Hit Me
by peetasbunmyoven
Summary: She hates him. But she needs him. Years ago Peeta Mellark took a hit for her like a foolish martyr. Turns out they were both good at taking hits. Years later Katniss is this close to a competitive kickboxing title and taking care of her family. She just needs a push. A push that comes from Peeta and forces her to realize that maybe she never hated him at all.


Peeta POV

I can feel the sweat at my temples already. It turns the hair by my ears shades darker than the blonde waves stuck to my forehead. It also beads on my upper lip and runs down my back between my shoulder blades each time I punch the bag.

The impact sings up my arm and burns across my taped knuckles. It feels good.

With muscles loose I bounce on my toes and don't even look up when the ancient metal door in the back corner swings open and slams shut.

The noise is loud, the wind sending dust into the streaks of rising sunlight that slant through the windows. It floats like a thousand fairies through the stale air. When I pull in a deep breath it tastes sour on my tongue and smells of sweat, leather, and the copper of blood.

I love it.

Falling back and balancing on my weak leg I send the bag swinging with a side-kick and have to stop my hips from rotating into an immediate roundhouse. With a frustrated clench of my knuckles I remind myself for the countless time that I can't move that way anymore. My back leg just can't take it no matter how fluid and instinctual the motion still feels.

I accept my body's limits. That doesn't stop the rage that burns like venom in my veins every time I have to remind myself.

I direct it into a cross punch that rattles the bag on its chain before yelling without looking up. "You're fucking late!"

She throws her bag to the floor, the rip of tape the only sound in the room above my breathing as she wraps her hands.

I know a scowl graces her lips without turning around and can practically feel her eyes shooting daggers into the back of my neck.

A smirk finds its way to my lips. There are few things I love more than pissing her off.

Punching the bag a final time I turn and run my hands through my hair. It flings sweat into the air and makes it stand up over my forehead.

She's braiding her hair off her face and shamelessly I take my time appreciating her from head to toe. I'm past giving a shit and even though every word out of her mouth pisses me off I can't help but appreciate the view.

Toned bronze shoulders, a flat stomach rippled in subtle muscles that lead to hips and an ass that only the god's above could possibly be responsible for.

Whether she is still neat and put together like now in tight yoga pants and a faded sports bra or disheveled and dripping sweat at the end of a work out Katniss Everdeen looks good enough to make a man hungry.

Too bad I'm pretty sure she tastes bitter and would be followed by immediate indigestion.

We've been at this arrangement for going on six weeks now and most days I don't have a damn clue why I'm doing this. I am obviously certifiable.

Because as much as I like looking at her, Katniss Everdeen is miserable company. The fact that she hates me doesn't help matters.

I'm starting to think the feeling is mutual.

When she tightens the band of her hair and then bends over to kick her stuff under the bench I watch the way her muscles tighten and feels my pants respond in kind.

Turning quickly I punch the bag again. Yeah. I should really fucking hate her.

* * *

Katniss POV

God I hate him.

How his blue eyes put my back up. One second they bore into me with disgust and seconds later undress me and I forget how to breathe. I hate the way his back actually glistens with sweat as it ripples and rolls every time he moves. God forbid he ever workout with a shirt on.

Only two more weeks. Nationals are only two weeks from today. I can tolerate anything for fourteen days. Even Peeta Mellark.

It wasn't always this way. Once upon a time he was just a halo of gold curls and big blue eyes that I occasionally found following me across classrooms and hallways.

We were always in the same grade in school. We just existed in different worlds. I was a ghost as dark as the shadows and the waves of my hair. I existed on the outskirts of popular crowds and teacher recognition.

Not Peeta. He was District High's golden boy with a charming smile. Intelligent and empathetic words fell from his mouth second nature and were always the right ones to say. He had the devil's wit and the hair of an angel with friends in every circle and hordes of girls to moon after his voice and the strain of muscles beneath his t-shirts.

We existed in different stratospheres.

Until the day we didn't.

When I was fourteen I stole some bread. The same two loaves slid across the counter to me by the blue eyed son of the baker. I knew I didn't have the money for it. I knew it was stupid at the time but I'd challenge anyone to think straight through desperation and hunger.

My mother was by that time on about month four of floating through life in a fog and as a skeletal excuse for a human being. Her sheets and her prescription medication being her only concern left me with a nine year old sister, no money, and empty cupboards.

I can't remember how I came to be standing in front of the bakery counter that day. There are just colors. Bright frosted confections in shades of lemon and lavender, buttery cookies glittering in sugar as fine as glass, and his eyes. Eyes that made the blue of the summer sky seem lacking.

Peeta smiled. It was warm and just the right amount of shy and I just remember my stomach one moment flipping and the next full of a dull ache as the warmth of yeast and sugar filled and taunted my nose.

He slid the bag of bread across the counter as I asked for cheese buns to distract him and with the heat of bread against my chest I backed away frantic and wide eyed towards the door. I'd just reached it when he turned his smile falling away in confusion and swiftly turning to fear as a woman came through the door leading to the back room of the building.

He looked from her to me and back again and when she noticed me her voice froze the air in my lungs and I turned and ran. The last thing I saw was Peeta raising both his hands and stepping in front if his mother shielding me from her eyes his mouth moving a mile a minute.

I was approached the next day and called into the school's guidance office. Peeta was there as were his parents and my mother.

Refusing to look at me he just messed with his hands and kept dragging the bangs of his hair down across his forehead. It didn't matter what he did I could see the black swollen patch of angry skin beneath his eye.

Someone hit him. He claimed he got into a fight.

Since I was so young and since Peeta had insisted it was his idea in the first place no major punishments were going to be pursued. "It was just some bread after all." Mr. Mellark had said with a smile.

Ashamed and seething in my seat I stared at my shoes. The small hole at the toe of my worn boots suddenly became fascinating while I cursed life, and my father for dying, and my mother for wasting space here instead. I cursed the unfairness of everything fate seemed determined to throw at me and as an angry tear slid down my cheek I decided to curse the blonde boy who sat silent feet from me for getting involved in something that was none of his business.

It was determined we both needed an outlet for discipline and anger. I was known to walk the school halls with a chip on my shoulder by that time but Peeta? What anger? I mean come on… fight my ass anyone in the room could feel the violence radiate off his mother. The only fist he took to his cheek had to have been hers.

Still as an unlikely trio our parents shook their heads in agreement and a deal was struck. Mr. Chaff had an old friend who owned a gym and we were to spend three afternoons a week finding a healthy way to expend our aggression for the remainder of the semester.

That was that.

Kickboxing was suddenly a part of my life the same day in many ways it turned around.

My mother came back to life that day.

Some debts you can never repay.

We trained at the same gym beneath the same coach. Abernathy's Club is small and dingy and as decrepit and aging as the bitter albeit endearing alcoholic whose name it bears.

I was good.

Peeta was great.

It was like he was born for it and a damn prodigy with arms thick and fast and fists that threw his opponents to the ground like they weighed nothing. He was a smart fighter, loud but fast on his feet he would fight with his head as much as with his hands and more often than not walked away with a triumphant fist in the air.

I wanted to hate him for that too. But he was mesmerizing to watch.

He could take any hit. An uppercut to the chin, a jab to the eye, his head might snap back or to the side but all it took was a resolute set of his jaw and he was ready to retaliate. It was like he didn't feel pain, or he was made of stone… like he didn't feel at all.

He became first in the state that very year. At seventeen he placed fourth in the national championships. By the year we turned eighteen and only months after graduating high school Peeta Mellark was declared the national champion by Panem's Kickboxing Association. He was the youngest victor they had ever had and within six months had signed endorsement deals and on as a professional kickboxer with a club in Capitol City.

It took only six short months for that to all fall apart.

An illegal maneuver performed by a competitor took out his leg. Ligaments were torn in three places and his bone was broken in two. He would never compete again. Even the victorious sometimes get a raw deal where fate is concerned.

He moved back home where his title and the questions of what could have been followed him around like a suffocating ghost.

Haymitch let him rent out the apartment above the gym and his father let him come back on at the bakery.

He worked and he healed. Worked and trained. For what I don't know. The small limp in each of his steps betrayed the lack of future for him in the sport.

What little softness to his features fell away along with the boy that used to charm and smile. It left behind a complicated man full of edges and angles whose eyes were haunted by shadows.

I would see him still twice a week as I continued to train. Sometimes the skin between my shoulders would burn and I knew he was watching me. I've felt the fire of those blue eyes for years.

See my climb might have been slower but by our senior year I was at least an established name in the ring. The three years following graduation my column of wins outnumbered the losses enough that a championship belt loomed full of glorious potential in the near future.

Championships meant winnings. Winnings meant possible endorsements, and endorsements meant paychecks inflating the savings account that would secure my sister's future.

I have never been so hungry for something in my life.

I worked for this. I worked fucking hard and it is so close I can taste it. It is how I find myself standing below the ring watching Peeta move today.

* * *

Six weeks ago Haymitch let me know in that gentle paternal way of his that I didn't stand a fucking chance. That I need more endurance, more strength in my right jab, and that, "No matter how many times I tell you sweetheart you won't stop dropping your god damn shoulder."

In the way we always have I raged and he ranted with spittle clinging to his lips and his face flushed from bourbon and just my own basic stubbornness. With one final, "It's your funeral sweetheart." He stormed from the building the slam of the door making me jump.

I knew he was wrong. I knew I could do this. I was a fighter, a survivor, I …

"He's right."

I spun around so fast my braid hit me in the face. Where the hell did he even come from?

Peeta Mellark strolled from the corner where he had apparently been sitting the entire time. His charcoal hoodie was unzipped over a white tee and the dark jeans he wore rode just low enough on his hips I could see the black band of his underwear above them.

Even from a distance I could tell his eyes were as brilliantly blue as they had been years ago.

Walking towards me he ran his hand over his stomach and gestured with his head. "He's right. About the shoulder and the strength. You could use your feet more too truth be told."

"And I asked for your opinion when?"

Ignoring me completely he just looked from my shoes up my legs. He took his time and I could feel it across every inch of my skin. "You're light as a fucking feather on your feet and you're fast. You should use it. It's an advantage Katniss."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You should."

With a roll of my eyes I turned my back to him and pretended I was alone as I set my stance and threw my right fist forward again and again toward an imaginary opponent.

"Your shoulder."

He wasn't there.

"Again your shoulder."

Jab.

"Jesus Christ do you fucking listen? It falls every god damn time!"

Winded and just done with life for the day I rounded on him. He was in the ring with me by this point and with bitterness practically frothing from my mouth I got in his face.

"I don't think I asked for your thoughts on this at all. In fact as someone who still can actually participate in the sport why don't you mind…your own... fucking…business. Leave me the hell alone!"

My face was so close to his I could feel the heat of my own exhales leave my nose onto his cheek. He smelled like the showers and in fact this close I could tell his hair was still damp near his ears. Biting into my cheek I glared at him in a way that told him exactly how I felt about him.

His eyes fell to my mouth for just a second before his own lips twitched into a smirk so faint I'd swear I hallucinated it.

Instead of walking away he leaned closer. My head spun as the smell of his skin filled my nose. Who the hell smells like spices?

His breath was warm and minty as his words practically fell onto my lips. "Hit me."

"What?"

With a cocked eyebrow he leaned back and shrugged out of his hoodie the gray cotton falling to the ground. "You're pissed. That's good. Use it. Hit me."

"What? No!"

"I bet you can't."

My scowl was starting to hurt my face and my heart rate was still pounding in my neck ever since he'd been inches from my mouth. "Don't push me Peeta."

"Oh the ice queen can say my name. Small fucking miracles. Well come on then. Show me that there's some fire in there somewhere Mockingjay."

His limp was hardly noticeable as he started to circle me his hands held open palm in front of his face. I followed him with the turn of my body but just shook my head. "I'm not fighting you."

"Why the hell not? Think of it as therapy or something. The universe finally getting you to act on all the animosity you have towards me."

"I am indifferent to you entirely Peeta."

He shook his head but smirked again. "You hate me."

I don't…"

"You don't have to lie Katniss. Come on little bird let's see what the fuck the fuss is all about. Hit me!"

He moved suddenly into my personal space and on reflex I jabbed out with my right hand. He blocked it and grinned. "There you go. Think about all the reasons you hate me. Tell them to me."

I swung forward again. He blocked it.

Sweat started to trickle down my neck and I grunted as I started to punch in combinations and sequences deflected by him each time.

"You're fucking cocky!" My breath panted past my lips.

"Confident."

"You didn't have to take any of the blame."

Jab. Block. His blue eyes gleamed as he taunted me with his stance the sloppier I got.

"For Christ's sake is this about the bread? Okay I forget that trying to do someone a favor makes them an asshole. In fact I should take a note from your book. It is doing wonders for your personality of pure sunshine Mockingjay."

"Don't call me that."

"Why? That's what they are calling you right? Suits you. All bird bones and light on your feet. Though instead of feathers all I see are fangs. Come on these are all weak… fucking try! Get mad Katniss!"

I was trying and the more he pushed me all I was seeing was red. I felt like I was about to explode.

"You had no idea what I was going through!"

Punch.

"You had no right to get involved. You always sat there every day just like everyone else while everything I had was falling apart!"

Right cross.

"Everyone's golden boy… surrounded by people telling you how fantastic you are, going home to a family that was whole! A table of fucking food! Your soft stomach back then probably didn't even have to growl before you could shovel in a handful of pastries to shut it up. I hated you for what you had. Your life! You're fucking perfect life!"

With each scream I punched. Harder. And harder. With each word tears started to build and Peeta's arrogant face to fall. His blue eyes widened and with the last words that fell so did his hands and essentially his guard as my fist met his cheek hard enough to snap his face to the side the sound of flesh on bone loud in the room.

My mouth fell open as my fists fell to my sides horrified. Without headgear a lump and bruising were already gathering on his cheek. He didn't say anything to me at first just clenched his jaw and blinked at me. His eyelashes fluttered as soft as wings against the bruise of his skin.

Finally those blue eyes met mine and he simply nodded. "Good. Really good. I'll come back tomorrow."

Stepping back he grabbed his hoodie from the ground and turned away from me slipping beneath the ropes and jumping to the ground.

I didn't even know what to say. I flexed my hands and looked at my fist letting my silence sign an acceptance to an offer I never saw coming.

Finally finding my voice as he reached the door I said, "Your cheek…"

Letting his head fall briefly he looked up at me with a sad smile on his face. "Don't worry about it Katniss. I learned to take a hit before I learned to tie my shoes. I guess you could call it an early chapter in that perfect life you were talking about."

Before I could say anything he just nodded again. "Tomorrow night same time. "

Then with a closed door he was gone.

* * *

I've gotten stronger, faster. Most nights I can hardly move but during the day I've never felt this powerful. As much as I hate to even think it I know it's because of Peeta. It sets me on edge because once again I'm left in his debt.

I know my anger towards him is often irrational. But hell, instinct and combativeness is a pretty thick armor and one I wear well. It has offered years of protection anyway.

So why is it that these past weeks I feel like it is falling away and leaving me vulnerable? My body is more toned and lethal than ever before. It is what lies beneath skin and bone that I fear people reaching the most. Why is that I can almost feel those blue eyes? What do they see?

The beat of my heart is a traitor to the rational of my mind. It swoops and flutters like wings when he looks at me a certain way. My body is no better. It betrays me every moment he is close. The heat of him makes me dizzy. His chest near the blades of my back, or his breath near my ear. It makes my pulse pound and my legs shake. Throwing my fist in his face at that point is the only alternative short of wanting to drag him to the ground.

No. I refuse to let some sort of confusing fucked up lust get to me over forearms, shoulders, and that jawline that I am pretty sure is not real.

Still so many moments he slips in like a thief and steals my breath with a look, or my smile with his dry sense of humor. Peeta Mellark was charming once and I forget that. But as we will away hours beneath dim lights I can't help but be reminded. That boy from years ago always surrounded by friendly faces, who used to smile shyly from across the room, is still in there somewhere.

The way he watches me now isn't shy. It is one moment suspicious and the next predatory and unapologetic. Those blue eyes linger too long and I can feel the heat of them on every inch of me. It pisses me off. The harder I glare the more arrogantly he smirks.

I haven't caught him off guard since that first day. I hate that. Even with his leg he's too strong, too smart. I move fast but like the master in a game of chess he is always two steps ahead of me yelling instructions and encouragement.

I don't need his words.

"You're giving up."

"I'm not." Sweat runs down my neck and using my arm I push wet loose strands of hair off my face.

That tendon that mesmerizes me rolls when he grinds his teeth and narrows his eyes. "You have to come at me faster Katniss. Unless getting your ass kicked is the plan."

I can't do this right now. We've been at this for four hours with him on me nonstop since I walked through the door. I am at my breaking point.

Turning my back to him I rip the gloves from my hands and don't even look at where I let them fall. Easing under the ropes I drop down to the ground and ignore his heavy footsteps behind me. With a hiss I rip the tape from my knuckles.

"I didn't say we were done."

With scowl I look at him over my shoulder and work the tape off my other hand flexing my fingers. "Yeah. I didn't ask."

The frustration coming off of him is palpable as his exhale leaves his nose. "Get back up there."

Turning around I cross my arms and level him with a look that almost begs him to push me. This feels dangerous and for some reason I want to run towards it instead of away. "No."

His mouth quirks to the side but it is more of a sneer than a smile. His blue eyes are dark and full of anger and disbelief. "I've been giving up my own time for six fucking weeks. Get back up there."

Right now I can be selfish. I don't care. I can't seem to think straight today and it just gets worse with him close and something right beneath my skin itches and it is pissing me off. So. No. I'm done.

"I'm done Peeta."

"No Katniss. You are done when I say you are. When I fucking feel like it. Because I have been here every damn day to help you."

"I'm not your charity case. You don't always have to save me." My voice sounds distant. Good. Cold indifference is safe.

He laughs then. An empty sound that actually makes me sick to my stomach. That's nothing like the sweet rich laughter he had in school.

"The ice queen is back I see. Well that won't do. You need fire to win little bird."

"I told you to stop calling me that."

Running his hand through his hair he just smiles. "Yeah I don't give a shit about what you to tell me to do… not anymore."

Exasperated I ask. "What does that even mean? Why do you hate me so much? I mean this hasn't been one sided Peeta. You asked me six weeks ago why I hated you. So now you tell me. What the fuck is all this? Why are you doing this when you can hardly stand to be near me?"

He stares at me so long and so intense I can feel foreboding scale its way up my spine and I shiver. His chest rises and falls, as air leaves his nose in a rush. He clenches his fingers tightly into fists at his sides as he shakes his head.

"You want to know why I hate you? You're kidding right?"

I swallow certain that I should stop him but shake my head anyway.

With a deep breath and low voice he starts, "I hate you Katniss because I haven't been able to stop looking at you since we were kids."

His face twists in disgust. "I hate you because I slid that bread to you that day. I turned around and spent the next thirty seconds trying to think of a way to talk to you but you were already running and you never looked back. I hate you because when I was fourteen I cared about you, more than I cared about myself and even though I looked at you the next day with one eye swollen shut I could still _see_ you. I could see all the things I loved about you. The stubborn set of your chin and that fucking braid that drove me crazy. Your eyes that let everyone know it was you against the world all in a swirl of smoke. I was terrified and enthralled at the same time and all I wanted was to know you."

He must be able to hear my heart. He keeps stepping closer. I can feel his words on my cheek and smell the sweat of his skin inches from mine as he takes the end of my braid in his fingers.

He stares there then looks back into my eyes. "I hate you Katniss because I have spent my whole life seeing you… just waiting for you to see me."

His anger falls slightly into a resigned sad smile as my hair falls from his hands. "Six weeks ago you did. It was with a face full of rage and you looked like you'd like nothing more than to kill me…but fuck I've never felt more alive."

My eyes look between his and fall to his mouth before I whisper. "I've always seen you."

I can feel the soft laugh leave his chest. "It's okay Katniss."

Frustration is thick in my mouth as I shake my head and let words tumble from my lips. "You used to draw. You always drank tea with lunch. You've always been strong, and you can take a black eye for me, and knock someone out cold but when we were kids you could take icing and make cookies that looked like magic in the eyes of a hungry girl. People love you. You used to laugh all the time but now you don't. I've always felt you watching me and I've never actually hated it and you always double knot your…"

My words fall into his mouth. His lips are soft and full and his exhale feels like steam against my cheek, his fingers like iron at my hipbones.

With a groan he pulls back immediately, and as I pant across his lips he whispers, "No. I shouldn't have done that. This isn't smart…"

This isn't smart? He's actually thinking right now?

With a squeeze of his hands he pushes back and looks at me. After a minute he just walks away and I feel like I am about to fall over.

I just stand there and I can't catch my breath. My legs feel heavy when I finally move there is a desperate ache between them. With my heart pounding in my ears I grab my bag and walk around the corner into the locker room.

What the fuck just happened?

I am strung tight and confused and damn frustrated. What the hell? You don't just say that kind of shit. You don't say that and kiss me and walk away.

But what did I expect to happen? Hell what did I want to happen?

Kicking off my shoes and peeling off my pants and sports bra I turn to start two of the shower heads in the corner. As the water heats I take down my hair.

Pulling the strands over my shoulder I know the truth. I want him. I want Peeta.

With a deep breath I reach into the water letting it part through my fingers and pull the steam deep into my lungs. Before I can let it out I feel a brush at the slope of my back and I go completely still.

Fingers draw small circles and move so slow they almost seem still as they trace each knot up my spine before reaching the base of my neck. Brushing my hair away lips replace fingers and I feel his words settle there hot and damp into my skin.

"I'm not smart."

He kisses across my shoulder. My exhales make me shake and I can feel the sticky salt of sweat and skin as his chest presses into my back. His lips drag along up onto my neck making it fall to the side.

They brush my ear. "Tell me to be smart Katniss. I'm pretty fucked up but I can't say no to this so tell me you hate me. Tell me to go."

His heart is pounding from beneath his ribs and I can feel it, I absorb it into me until I would swear mine matches it beat for frantic beat. His wide palms and long fingers anchor at my hips, and scratch softly at the tops of my thighs.

When he sucks softly on my neck his voice is tight, desperate. "Tell me."

Turning I look at him. Really look at him and appreciate how truly beautiful he is. His hair is damp and darkened with sweat and clinging to his forehead and his skin if fair and flushed with freckles scattered across his shoulders from the summer sun.

His hands stay on me only to settle on my back and I feel them slip under the band of my panties as I rise up on my toes. I slide my arms slick from water and steam around his neck until my fingers sink into his hair making him sigh.

Leaning forward I breathe into his mouth. "I can't."

That's all he needs to hear and with a groan his lips are on mine his tongue parting them and making my eyes fall closed. We are aggressive and impatient and it is thrilling. He backs us both into the spray as my hands touch as much of him as I can reach. I claw into his back and run my hands over his stomach feeling his muscles tense and ripple beneath my palms. When my nails dig into his skin he moans my name and thrusts against me hard enough that I back into the wall of tile and laugh as he drags my wet panties down my legs.

"Fuck. My god you are so gorgeous Katniss." He kisses me and bites his way down my neck his hands palming my breasts and my back arches as he takes one into the heat of his mouth all teeth and tongue and filthy words onto my wet skin.

With determined hands I push his shorts past his hips and drag his briefs down along with them until we have nothing between us and are just a mess of slippery limbs and panting breaths. I can feel him thick and hard against my belly and when he kisses me again and grinds into me it is hard enough to lift me off my feet and he just puts his hands beneath my thighs to pin me beneath the water the tile cool and slick at my back, my feet locked together at the ankle.

He's right there. God yes.

He pulls back those long golden lashes spiked and his eyes a pool of blue and fattened pupils. "I don't have anything…"

Kissing the words from his mouth I shake my head. "I'm covered, and clean, and please Peeta."

"Fuck Katniss."

This kiss actually hurts and it is so good my toes curl as he slides inside me until I am full and he is so close I feel like I am breathing out the air he pulls in.

He thrusts slow and deep and my back climbs the wall a little each time. Every breath I take is pure steam and the taste of salt and his skin fills my mouth. His hair is wet and thick in my hands and each time he pushes in I pull and the most delicious sounds leave his throat beneath my lips.

With my heels I push off the flexing muscles of his ass and he fucks me harder and harder and the slap of our skin fills my ears and each time he grunts I get closer. Then he starts to talk.

Sinful filthy words and sentences that make no sense fall from his lips into my ear and against my cheek and it's too much. I come hard biting into his shoulder to keep from screaming as my back arches and my body bears down on his. He holds me up softly tracing the bones at my hip until I come down and then begins moving again in urgent long purposeful strokes that grow more erratic as his jaw clenches and his fingers dig into my skin hard enough to bruise. When he comes he kisses me. He kisses me and kisses me biting into my lips as he moans and stiffens between my thighs.

Urgent kisses turn from needy to slow and then languid as he pulls out of me and sets me on the floor beneath the spray. We both stand with our heads resting against each other panting into the others mouth.

When he opens his eyes they look lighter, less haunted. For some reason that makes me smile.

Grinning back he pushes my hair off my face and kisses my nose. "Apparently you don't hate me."

Trying to scowl and failing miserably because orgasm, wet and naked Peeta Mellark, and those eyes who am I kidding? "Being smart is overrated."

When I add in a soft whisper, "I always saw you Peeta. Even if I didn't realize it." His smile falls into an expression so intense it makes me ache for something more and almost within reach.

Looking between my eyes he leans forward and kisses me. It is reverent and happy and I sigh into it as his arms come around of me in a way that feels safe.

Pulling away he squeezes me gently. "Well I'm glad you're paying attention now."


End file.
